“Your property is in violation of community standards,” she said on my porch, holding a clipboard with a laminated badge. She had no idea that the access road she’d driven in on, the parking lot she’d used, and every inch of ground she’d crossed belonged to me. The deed was in a fireproof drawer 40 feet behind her. Then she threatened to take my land — and I showed her the 1936 document my grandfather filed.
“Your property is in violation of community standards,” she said on my porch, holding a clipboard with a laminated badge. She had no idea that the access road she’d driven in on, the parking lot she’d used, and every inch of ground she’d crossed belonged to me. The deed was in a fireproof drawer 40…
